


Flickering Light

by midnightprelude



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude
Summary: Nearly turned away from a Magisterial gala, Thorold Tethras meets a few unexpected allies.
Relationships: Thorold Tethras/Maevaris Tilani
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	Flickering Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyrne (theungenue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/gifts).



> Written for the Paragon of Our Own Exchange! Check out the other works in the collection!

## Thorold

Thorold should’ve known that the summer storm clouds that rolled in to blanket the horizon over Minrathous meant that the astoundingly simple assignment he’d been given that morning would be anything but. The ominous sky had blotted out the sun since lunch, but it’d managed to hold off its tears until the least convenient moment possible. Of course. 

The mages flocked past the gilded gates to Magister Maecilia’s estate, invisible umbrellas catching the droplets and flinging them harmlessly aside, all while the torrent soaked him from beard to bone, the damp infiltrating his boots and making his socks squelch with every step. 

He approached the guard at the gate warily.

The man didn’t look away from his clipboard, didn’t even seem to notice Thorold standing at his feet expectantly. He cleared his throat, trying to get the mage in his ridiculous gold and black livery to look _down_.

A wrinkle of the human’s nose as he met Thorold’s eyes matched his own grimace. “Can I _help_ you?”

“I’m on the list.” Thorold tried to keep his voice even. Humans were humans; they might need dwarves to finance their ventures and keep their pretty baubles in working order, but that didn’t mean they _enjoyed_ the exchange. “Thorold Tethras. I’m a representative of the Merchant’s Guild, on official Ambassadoria business. I have an invitation to this gathering.”

“There’s a dress code,” the guard sneered, rolling his eyes. “The Master of the house would not take kindly to one of his guests dripping on the marble floors. Do come back when you’ve had a chance to change into something more appropriate.”

Thorold grumbled, clenching his fist in the soggy pocket of his gold-embroidered jacket. “Blighted-”

“What was that, Serrah?” the guard tilted his chin with a syrupy, self-satisfied grin.

“Must’ve been the wind,” Thorold mumbled, exhaling sharply. How was he supposed to go all the way back to the Embassy, change, and get back here without becoming drenched again? The stroll between his carriage and the entryway had already been enough to render him sopping. An exercise in bloody futility.

“Off with-”

“Hello darling,” a cheery voice, completely incongruous with the scenery, rang through the courtyard like bell-song. “Whatever seems to be the matter?”

Thorold nearly jumped out of his doublet when an Altus in a floor-length mauve ball gown approached him and rested a manicured hand on his shoulder. She towered over the guard, the shoulders of her dress peaked sharply, glamorous and menacing and feather-strewn as she stared down the other human. 

The guard mumbled something nearly incomprehensible at her, staring between the two of them. 

“What was that, my dear? Something about dress?”

“The dwarf-”

“He has a _name_ ,” she sang, the casual joviality of her tone somehow more intimidating than if she’d shouted him down in an alleyway. 

“Messere Tethras is not appropriately dressed for entrance-” the guard began again.

“Oh!” The mage looked Thorold up and down. “Seems well dressed enough for me!” She winked, raising a brow. “Possibly _too_ dressed, hmm?”

Thorold felt an unwelcome heat rising to his cheeks at the comment. Blighted, bloody mages, playing the rest of them for...

“But the state of his-”

“Ah, I _see_. I told you not to go ahead of me, love!” she grinned, pressing a kiss to his brow. Thorold tried not to gape openly at the strange woman. Her lips were softer than anything had a right to be and she smelled like a flower shop. Lemon and... Lilac? Lavender? He hadn’t really learned to discern them yet, had only been six months at the surface. She waved a hand and the raindrops that meant to fall upon his head stopped in midair, redirecting themselves around him. The mage snapped and suddenly he was dry again, as though he’d never left his rooms and ventured out into the storm. “There we are. Right as- Well, rain! Surely you wouldn’t prohibit my date and I from entering now?”

The guard coughed, scanning his list and scratching off a pair of names. “I- alright. Yes. Go ahead, Magister Tilani.”

Tilani. _Tilani_. He’d heard the name before. Five hundred members of the Senate and he was still getting a handle on them all. Gideon had mentioned something about her, something- There had been some sort of scandal, quite a few years back. What was- Why was she helping-

“Ta, then, darling!” She draped a very, _very_ toned arm around his shoulder, waving at the guard as they slipped past the gate. 

She didn’t stop touching him until they’d passed through the threshold of the mahogany double doors, out of view of the guard. He felt something light slip into his pocket.

“Ambassador Tethras,” Tilani said cheerfully, leading him down the hallway, away from the glittering Magisters and Alti and piles of floating canapes. “I’m Maevaris Tilani. It’s so good to finally meet your acquaintance. I’m glad I could be of assistance; these things can be such a _bother_.”

What, what, _what_ did this bizarre woman want from him. 

Thorold cleared his throat, taking in the room of radiant humans. Tall as mountains, flawless skin, dressed in some of the most impractical costumes he’d ever seen - indeed, some of them seemed to be held together by magic alone. “The pleasure’s all mine, madam. Thanks for helping me deal with that guy at the front.”

“Oh, darling, it’s absolutely no bother!” Tilani waved to a young man in an impossibly high emerald and gold collar, with a goatee and immaculately trimmed mustache. “These parties can get rather dull, you see. Always the same lot of people. It’s good to see a fresh face! I hope we can meet again this evening, but I’m afraid you’ll need to excuse me.” She shrugged, an almost sincere look of remorse making her features droop. “I am, quite unfortunately, expected to mingle.” 

“Alright,” Thorold raised a brow, unsure of what else to say. The woman had just kissed him moments before and was now abandoning him in the middle of the entryway. “I suppose I’ll see you?”

“I’m certain you will,” she winked, before sauntering away towards her friend.

He wandered through the foyer, taking a plate and gathering a few lemon tarts and shrimp puffs off of floating platters and adding them to his collection. No drinks tonight. He needed his eyes sharp and stone sense strong if he were to be successful. 

It was to be a simple job. Ambassadoria had become suspicious of Maecilia after he’d halted nearly all of his regular lyrium orders from Orzammar. What better way to gather information than to attend a gala in his home? Ask a few questions of his allies, listen in on his conversations, and try to find some of his staff- Mages, especially from the Magisterium, were careful, tricky bastards but they’d often forget to look down. Dwarves and elves could often pass unnoticed in places that other humans couldn’t and the loyalty of elven slaves was cheap and easy to buy. The offer to slip an informant or one of their family members on a merchant ship south would usually do the trick.

Thorold wove through the taller guests, skirting the edge of the ballroom where invisible musicians played a Tevene waltz and dozens of Alti spun around the room, heels clicking against marble tiles, whispered voices creating an eerie susurrus that chilled him to the core.

Quiet. He needed quiet, where he could finally see what the golden-haired, laughing Magister had left for him to find. He made his way towards a glass door that apparently led towards the gardens, pleased to see that whatever magic the mages had been using to keep the rain off their heads was expanded to cover the entirety of the small garden area. Even so, there were only a couple of guests meandering through the rose bushes and cherry blossoms, floating lights glowing in the ponds and trees, casting shadows across the grounds.

Thorold breathed in the damp, clean air and settled onto a wrought iron chair and pulled the letter from his pocket.

The folded parchment was blank and definitely hadn’t been there when he’d left his rooms.

Thorold blinked, staring as flowing calligraphy began to materialize on the page.

_I know why you’re here and I believe my associates and I can assist you further in your plight. We have physical evidence that Quaeren Maecilia is importing several tons of raw lyrium each week from Kal-Sharok, bypassing Tevinter’s exclusive trade agreements with the Merchant’s Guild and Orzammar._

_We also have suspicions about the quality of the product and that it might be a public health concern if the market’s flooded with this unregulated lyrium._

_My friend will find you in the gazebo near the apple orchard in half an hour, should you wish to work with us to bring the scandal to light. He’ll be wearing an amulet with a double-headed snake, the end terminating in the shape of peacock feathers._

_I don’t need to tell you that it’d be best if this information is given to the Ambassadoria by one of its own representatives. That will be the extent of your role in this endeavor: to see the wealth of evidence with your own eyes and report back to your patrons._

Mages. 

Well. It would make things a bit easier, if they already had a lead.

That is, if they could trust him and this wasn’t an elaborate ruse to get him to out the Ambassadoria’s interests.

If he guessed wrong, it would be back to Orzammar, most likely with a brand on his face.

But he could almost smell the lilacs or lavender - or whatever it was - still on the collar of his jacket. If Tilani was a liar, she was a damned good one. 

Most Magisters were, to tell the truth. But the least he could do was hear out her friend.

He waited in the dark, munching on the fried fish and flaky pastries he’d gathered, watching the magicked sky glitter with stars that outside the manse would be covered up by clouds. A sky he’d spent most of his life hearing tales of.

Nearly half an hour passed, by the dwarven timepiece in his pocket, before he stood, leaving his plate on the table to find the aforementioned gazebo. Hopeful. He’d gone in with no leads, yet one seemed poised to drop directly into his lap.

Maybe it was more suspicious than he’d originally thought. He’d need to be careful. Plenty of knives in his boots and the hidden hand crossbows would do in a pinch, but if he got on the bad side of a Magister, all the bolts in the world wouldn’t save him.

The gazebo was towards the edge of the grounds, looking over a field of trees, blanketed with white and light pink petals. White painted trellises over a stone floor, three marble benches arrayed on the circumference of the little building. In the center, there was a carved memorial to Marius and Auna Maecilia. Dead for over ten years, judging by the numbers on the ground.

“So.” A disembodied voice whispered through the air. “Tilani sent you to me. Said you could help.”

“I’m here representing the Ambassadoria’s interests,” Thorold said, muscles tightening reflexively as he looked around the empty space. 

“At the moment, their interests align with mine,” the faceless male voice purred through the evening air. 

“And what might those be?” Thorold asked hesitantly, ready to flick his wrist and launch a poisoned bolt as soon as the man chose to show himself.

“To put a long overdue end to Quaeren Maecilia. To humiliate him. To tear him down, stone by stone.” The shadows parted in the center of the memorial to reveal a slim man wearing a tight robe and a chainmail hood of forged black steel. “To expose the truth surrounding my parents’ murders.” He pulled the hood off his face, the chain rippling like water under his fingers, his skin impossibly still shrouded in shadow. “And to claim what is rightfully mine so I can finally be free.”

A glittering golden pendant in the shape of twinned snakes and a peacock’s plumage glowed and dimmed and his features became distinct. A full, scruffy beard. An erudite nose. Emerald eyes bruised with rubies, glimmering in the low light. Unruly curls, spilling over his brow. The mage extended his hand towards Thorold, a wry grin on his lips. “Rilienus Maecilia. Do you still think you can be of use to me?”

Family drama. _Magisterial_ family drama. And he’d read up on the Maecilias before attending this party; the Maecilia kid had been convicted of murdering his own parents, Magister Marius and his wife Auna, with blood magic at the impressionable age of twelve. His uncle Quaeren had stepped in to save him from the head man’s axe and had taken over the family fortune and the Maecilia seat in the Magisterium.

Why would Tilani be involved in a vengeance plot?

“The fellow is very fond of his dramatic entrances,” a sweet voice murmured behind him. Thorold turned on his heels, startled to see the blond Magister holding a slender birch twig, leaning against a post of the gazebo, a warm smile curling her lips. At some point since the time they’d entered the party, she’d managed to change from her showy outfit into a simple black robe. “Our game, ultimately, is to bring justice to Tevinter. I _know_. A lofty ideal. Doomed to failure. More likely to end in our deaths than any real change.”

“But,” a third mage - the Altus with the mustache that Maevaris had waved at earlier - stepped into the light of the small gazebo, wrapping an arm around the waist of the other man. Instead of his high-collared formal outfit, he was dressed in a simple black cloak, matching Tilani. “We strongly believe the struggle will be worth it. Exposing the corruption at the center of the Imperial enterprise, one Magister at a time.”

“I’ve done my homework on you, Messere Tethras,” Maevaris chimed, hand on her waist. “You’ve gotten in trouble with the Ambassadoria before for doing what was _right_ , even if it cost in the short term.”

“We need allies among the Merchant’s Guild if we’re to make a difference,” the strange man said with a raised brow. 

“You’ll need a lot more than that, I imagine,” Thorold cleared his throat, feeling his palms sweat slightly. Plots and schemes and balls and mages. It almost made him wish he was only dealing with the Carta. “Blighted miracle, more like it.”

“I can show you Quaeren’s lyrium stock,” Rilienus said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s what you came for.”

“It is,” Thorold replied, trying not to stare openly at the three of them. Altus perfection, immaculate breeding evident in every one of their features. In truth, he came for _whispers_ of Magister Maecilia’s trade deals, not actual evidence they were taking place. It was an opportunity he’d likely never see again.

“Perhaps,” Rilienus purred, pulling out a slender, sapphire-covered message cylinder and holding it out towards Thorold, “this shipping manifest I snatched from his study a few minutes ago would also be of interest to your employers.”

“Give it to me,” he said, before he had time to think about it. 

The mage grinned, teeth bared, as Thorold snatched the cylinder from his hand, unscrewing the top and pulling out a rolled up stack of trade contracts and manifests, the seal of Kal-Sharok at the bottom, right next to that of House Maecilia. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Thorold exhaled. “You’re serious. Serious and bloody efficient. How did you manage to-”

“It’s _my_ home, not Quaeren’s,” Rilienus snapped. “My parents and I used to play hide and seek in all of the secret tunnels and false cabinets. I spent twelve years uncovering all of its nooks and crannies.”

“ _Amatus_ , please,” the mustachioed man murmured, tugging young Maecilia closer. Who _was_ he- “I’ll admit we have something of a personal interest in this matter,” the man smiled and offered his hand, the nails carefully manicured and painted black. “Dorian Pavus, of Qarinus and Minrathous, and the worst thing to have happened to my poor family since my great, great, et cetera, et cetera grandfather Gideon was tried and executed for treason for having the _audacity_ to suggest not invading the south while they were recovering from the Fourth Blight.”

“You’re all mad,” Thorold blinked, shaking Pavus’ hand. A firm, practiced grip of a politician, whether the man knew it or not. “Utterly, entirely mad. But-” He turned to Maevaris, gold hair shimmering in the false moonlight. Void and _Deep_ , she was a sight to see. “I like you. First set of Alti I haven’t wanted to run away from or poke full of arrows.”

“Delightful,” Tilani beamed, wrapping an arm around Thorold’s shoulder again. Lemon and lavender. Or lilac. One of the two, certainly. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. “Welcome, Master Tethras, to the Lucerni.”


End file.
